


I'll Be Your Shield, If You'll Be My Heart

by Syrum



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Cute, Fluff, Forehead Kisses, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Healing, Innocent love, M/M, Mila being a big sis, Minami being a hyperactive puppy, Threats of Violence, Victor being inappropriate, Yuri being a protective kitten, Yuri's potty mouth, cheek kisses, mild violence, your teeth may fall out from the cute in places
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-08-30 15:04:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8537668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrum/pseuds/Syrum
Summary: When Yuri Plisetsky accidentally stumbles upon a young boy being attacked in an alley before a competition, he opens up a can of worms he could never have hoped to predict.Somehow, this hyperactive ball of blonde and red energy has managed to get under his skin, and Yuri isn't so sure that he minds.  Now, if only he could keep Minami safe, somehow...





	1. The Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> I spent the longest time thinking that Minami was his first name! Apparently not judging from the announcers, since he's Japanese (though it still seems strange to me that his coach calls him Minami-kun, but still), and so I've changed this around to suit.
> 
> These two are entirely adorable together, and I needed to play with Yuri's over-protective instincts, so...here we are!
> 
> EDIT: Forgot to make this a multi-chapter fic! Fixed it! Chapter two tomorrow <3

****

“What the  _ fuck _ do you think you’re doing?”  He should have, perhaps, minded his own business.  Should have kept his eyes down, turned around and walked right back through that door.  Pretended he hadn’t seen anything; it wasn’t his fight, he wasn’t involved.  Hell, he didn’t even  _ know _ the tiny blonde boy whimpering some feet away, soulful brown eyes filled with too much pain and fear for someone his age.

But then, Yuri Plisetsky had never really been one to mind his own business.

There were two of them in the wide alleyway, one with his hand buried in the hair of the blonde boy.  He was fairly tall, or tall to Yuri at least, perhaps six feet in height.  He was skinny, but that didn’t mean much, and there was a nasty sneer painted across his face.  The boy in his grip seemed so tiny by contrast, five foot at a push, seeming smaller still as he tried in vain to shy away from the vicious hand holding him in place, thick fingers yanking at blonde and red locks hard enough to bring tears to the boy’s eyes.

The other man had positioned himself behind the boy, standing a foot or so back and just out of sight for the frightened kid, sniggering at something his compatriot had said.  He was shorter and rounder, with tattoos covering what Yuri could see of his hands and neck.  Of the two, he was likely the more dangerous one in a fight, yet his expression lacked the cruelty of the first man.  The muscle, then.

He had only meant to step outside for a few minutes, to take what few moments of fresh air and silence he could.  Yuri knew full well that he would be in some serious trouble if anyone saw him; this was the smokers entrance, the space at the back of the rink that was usually reserved for those shortening their lifespan with nicotine or finishing up a deal for something decidedly less legal.  If the media caught him, he would be hung out to dry, but Yakov simply would not  _ shut up _ and he needed a  _ break _ , needed space to think.

He had known America would be rough, he hadn’t expected it to be  _ this _ bad though.  The door clicked shut behind him, and two pairs of eyes turned to regard him with a certain amount of sick curiosity.

“Turn around and go back inside, kid.  You didn’t see nothin’.”  It was enough to make Yuri see red.  He leapt over the banister that lined the steps down to the filthy floor of the alleyway, lunging for the asshole holding on to the boy.  The guy barely knew what hit him, a sharp kick to the side of his knee sending him tumbling, quickly followed by a punch hard enough to break his already crooked nose.  Blood gushed from the man’s face and he howled, letting go of the boy in his grasp to stumble backwards, putting some distance between himself and his unexpected attacker and yanking a good number of blonde hairs free as he did so.

The second man, momentarily surprised by the speed of Yuri’s vicious attack, gathered his wits faster than Yuri would have liked.  A fist, travelling fast enough that it might have sent Yuri flying had it landed, skimmed past his cheek as he took a calculated step back, keeping his own body between that of the thug and the boy.  Using the larger man’s size against him, it was a simple enough matter to trip him, the scrape of cloth and flesh against dirt covered by the harsh exhale of breath as the man landed.

Even with his hood up, harsh glare in place and fists clenched tightly at his sides, Yuri did not exactly cut a frightening figure, certainly not for two fully grown men.  He himself was scarcely half a head taller than the boy with the shock of blonde and red hair, yet it had not mattered as he put himself between the kid and the thugs.  He could take a beating, the quiet sobs behind him showed that the boy could not.

And it was the boy behind him that he had to think of; the first man had not moved, other than to try to stem the bleeding from his nose, and Yuri wondered if he had managed to break the man’s leg judging from the unnatural angle of his knee.  The second, though, was scrambling to his feet.  Much as he hated running from a fight, he knew they needed to get out of there, and fast.

The kid’s hand was clammy within his own, and he gripped it perhaps a little too tightly, taking the steps two at a time as the boy stumbled along behind him.  The door opened as they reached it, and Yuri darted around whoever had opened it, not sparing them so much as a glance and ignoring the shout of surprise.

The lights in the hallway seemed too bright after the dimly-lit alley, and it took a moment for Yuri to find his bearings, to track down the nearest first-aid station, and to shove his charge into the deserted room, shutting and locking the door behind them.  The kid immediately dropped down into one of the three chairs within the small space, visibly shaking as tears slid unheeded down filthy cheeks, leaving skin-coloured tracks in the layer of dust.

In the quiet of that room, under the bright fluorescent lighting, Yuri was able to assess the damage for the first time since his impromptu and unplanned rescue.  The boy’s bottom lip had split slightly, the soft pink giving way to a harsh slash of red that had smeared down his chin.  His left eye was starting to swell below the socket, turning a less than fetching shade of purple and stretching down over his cheek.  A right hook, by the looks of things, enough to floor the blonde yet thankfully not enough to knock him out - had they blindsided him?  His trousers had been torn at the knee by the impact with the floor, and there were scratches and scrapes seemingly everywhere.  Yuri’s own hand was smeared with red in places, from where he had gripped too hard, cuts on the kid’s palm bleeding out over his own.

Perhaps it was the discomfort that the sight caused within his own stomach which forced him to look away, at the open display of weakness that Yuri himself could never show and the damage he hadn’t been able to prevent, instead busying himself with tracking down whatever supplies the kid might need.

“Thank you.”  The boy had raised one trembling hand, gripping the back of Yuri’s jacket as though it was a lifeline.  He was still shaking badly, though at least the tears had stopped for the moment, and while Yuri could understand the reaction, somehow it only served to drag his anger to the surface again.

“Stupid brat, why the  _ fuck  _ didn’t you fight back?”  Whirling on the boy, he was treated to wide brown eyes that were still brimming with tears, wet cheeks shimmering in the unnatural light while a sharp canine tooth worried at his bottom lip.  The knuckles on Yuri’s right hand stung from their earlier impact with the man’s face, and the sensation grounded him somewhat as he clenched that hand into a tight fist.

“I did.”  Came the soft reply, pushing back the sharp edge of Yuri’s anger as he huffed in annoyance at the kid.  “Or at least, I tried to.”  His head dropped, red flopping down to obscure his eyes momentarily.  “Sorry.”

“Yuri Plisetsky.”  The kid hadn’t asked, probably hadn’t thought to, and the atmosphere had lingered somewhere close to unpleasant.  It caused no small measure of discomfort, and Yuri was tempted for a moment to simply leave the kid there to deal with his injuries himself.  Instead, he did the next best thing; he changed the subject.  “My name, Yuri Plisetsky.”

“I know.”  The kid replied, and though he did not raise his head to meet Yuri’s eyes, the soft smile in the boy’s voice was clearly audible, mixed with a tinge of childlike excitement.  “I watched you skate in the preliminaries, you were brilliant!  It’s why I’m here, I-”  He paused, seeming to catch himself for the moment, and while Yuri wondered at what he might have meant to say, he chose not to pursue it.  “I’m Minami.  Minami Kenjirou.”

The name seemed familiar, but for the life of him Yuri could not think  _ why _ .  They certainly hadn’t met before; he would remember hair and eyes like  _ that _ , so he must have seen the name written down somewhere.  A newspaper, perhaps?  Or one of the few fan letters that he had deigned to read?

He did not have a response, certainly nothing that would not involve snapping at the kid again, instead moving back short way to allow Minami space to remove his jacket and pants and ignoring his own questions for the moment.  Yuri was almost surprised when the shirt was tossed aside as well, sucking in a sharp hiss as the true extent of the damage was revealed; boot marks covered Minami’s chest, red and purple, the skin broken in a handful of places by the rough treatment.  There were no deep gashes, mostly surface wounds, but they looked painful and a quick glance told him that the boy’s back was no better off.

_ Shit. _

“You’re a mess.”  He finally stated, swallowing down his fury at what those _bastards_ had done, not expecting the slightly watery smile he received in response.  The sight of those upturned lips, framed by a face distorted by bruising, only made ignoring his need to _hurt_ _them_ all the more difficult to ignore.  He had to though, had a damaged kid depending on him and a performance he had not even _warmed up for_ in less than an hour - Yuri knew he needed to focus.

Years of skating, of pushing himself to the limit, had given Yuri enough experience with broken bones to know what he was looking for.  Cold fingers pressed over Minami’s ribcage, firm enough to feel for anything out of place.  He could feel each time the kid winced, trying to remain still even as Yuri’s fingertips pressed into the worst of the bruising.  It seemed to take an age, yet Minami remained quiet throughout, biting down on his already abused bottom lip and scrunching his eyes tightly closed.

It was a good tactic, one Yuri himself had used many times before.

Finally satisfied that nothing was actually  _ broken _ , and decidedly calmer than he had been, Yuri set about cleaning out each of the scrapes and bandaging them tightly, not wishing the wrappings to come undone due to his inexpert attempt.  It took longer than he had hoped, and yet Minami did not complain once, sitting in a near-motionless silence that seemed misplaced somehow.

“You need to go.”  Glancing up, Yuri found that Minami was staring at the small television suspended in one corner, silently playing the live footage from the ice rink itself.  The Finnish skater had just finished up his routine and was sliding from the ice, looking entirely exhausted but with an accomplished smile.  There were two more skaters due out before Yuri’s turn, which meant he had twenty minutes maximum to change, warm up and get out on the ice.

Well, shit.  Yakov was going to kill him.

He turned to look back at Minami, catching something out the corner of his eye at that moment that made the young Russian skater whip his attention back around to the television, eyes going wide as he stared at the name listed in English directly below his own on the line-up.

Kenjirou Minami.

_ Double shit. _


	2. First Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys get a few moments alone to talk, and truths are spilled. Minami isn't a weakling after all, it seems!

Yuri wasn’t himself when he stepped out onto the ice, focused in a way he had never been, yet somehow not quite  _ there _ either.  He had ignored the inevitable dressing-down from Yakov - mostly, at least - and focused on preparing for his routine.  He had rushed through hair and makeup, and it showed, although he hoped it was less noticeable on camera, Yuri knew that wasn’t often how these things went; cameras picked up every flaw, every misplaced hair.  They added ten pounds to your waistline and they  _ aged _ you.  

Still, if he was lucky, anyone paying close enough attention to notice might assume it was part of the image, the performance.  The split knuckles were a bit of a give-away, and though he had cleaned and bound them as best he could with his limited time, a small splodge of red had started to seep through the pristine white of the bandages by the time his routine began.

The theme was  _ Vengeance _ , the music not something he would have picked himself, and while he had struggled somewhat with the concept in practice, somehow at that moment Yuri found his rhythm.

The crowd roared as he landed yet another tricky jump, pulling off one difficult combination after another, yet all Yuri heard was the thud of flesh impacting flesh, of bones breaking and the pained cry of a boy who  _ could not fight back. _  These were not memories, these were what-ifs fuelled by a cruel grin and Minami’s quiet pain still fresh at the forefront of his mind, and they only served to make him skate harder, his heart pounding.

What would they had done to him if Yuri hadn’t intervened?  If he had been only a few minutes later, would he have stumbled across a corpse in that alleyway instead?  Or worse?

He twisted and span, the routine seared into his mind from too many long practice sessions.  A triple loop, spin, straight into a quadruple salchow - his body seemed to move on its own, one motion leading into the next as adrenaline pumped through his veins.  It felt almost,  _ almost _ like he was back out in that alley, fighting for someone other than himself, and had this truly been what he had been missing during his rehearsals of the routine?  This sense of wanting to  _ protect _ ?  It wasn’t vengeance, of that he was certain, but rather something he could not name.  Regardless, he wanted to  _ fight _ .

His routine over, the music silent, Yuri left the ice without acknowledging the cheering crowd.  He sat and waited for his score because he had to, not reacting as an astounding result of a hundred and three was revealed to the baying masses, a score almost unheard of for a skater his age, only just making his senior debut.  He should have been happy, ecstatic even, and yet all he could think of were soulful brown eyes and a watery smile.

Yakov seemed happy enough with his performance, ignoring his sullen behaviour; likely passing it off as another teenage strop as he so often did.  He let Yuri leave without question and without any further admonishment, remaining behind ready for Georgi’s upcoming performance.

Yuri hadn’t expected Minami to be waiting for him when he stepped out into the throngs of reporters all clamouring for his attention.  The boy was grinning from ear to ear, wide enough that the cut on his lip had reopened and was bleeding sluggishly, yet he did not seem to mind overmuch.  Did not seem bothered by any of his injuries in fact, though Yuri could see that he favoured his left side, the right ankle having been twisted badly.  He had wrapped it, but it would take some time before Minami would be able to walk on it again without pain, and even longer before he would be back out on the ice.

He certainly would not be skating again that day.

“That was incredible!  You were so amazing Yuri, I watched the whole thing, though I wish I could have seen it in person.”  The questions from the assembled throng of reporters burbled into nothing as they collectively switched their attention to watch the hyperactive, bruised blonde babble on non-stop  There was a humming curiosity from the gathered crowd as Yuri tried to push down his embarrassment at praise he was not really used to, cheeks lightly flushed.  Reaching into the pocket of his jacket, Yuri found the tissue he had stashed there who-knows how long ago.  Still, it was clean, and that was enough.  “I’ve never seen you skate so well, you looked so elegant and deadly out on the ice, I thought-”  Minami’s gushing praise was silenced as Yuri reached over to press the crumpled tissue against the boy’s lower lip, the white blooming with crimson as it quickly soaked up the trickle of blood leaking from the split there.

Silence reigned for all of about twenty seconds, big brown eyes staring up at him in a mixture of surprise and awe, before the world seemed to explode with a cacophony of sound.

“Yuri, can you tell us about the nature of your relationship with Kenjirou Minami?”

“Is it true that you will be following in Victor Nikiforov’s footsteps in  _ more _ ways than one?”

“Can we expect to see more of this blossoming friendship in the future?”

“Will this be another link between team Russia and team Japan?”  Yuri felt about ready to snap, to lash out at one or more of the nosey reporters, if just to shut them up.  It would be bad publicity, but he didn’t much care at that point, and he was not used to having to deal with them directly - he had Yakov for that, and yet Yakov was not here to field their questions in the right direction, to cut off the less appropriate ones before they started.  He was only fifteen for crying out loud!  Minami, he assumed, must be around the same age as well, how could they think-

“Mr Plisetsky, could you explain to us the cause of the injuries that Kenjirou Minami is currently sporting?”  He was certain that the constant bombardment of deeply personal, suggestive and downright vicious insinuation would upset Minami, particularly after all that he had already gone through in such a short period of time.  It would simply be too much, he was sure, and yet to his surprise Minami span on his good heel to glare up at the reporter who had just spoken.

“ _ What _ are you trying to imply?”  The smaller boy was seething, fists clenched by his sides and trembling with anger.  Yuri could only watch as the tiny blonde puffed up his chest and stared down - quite successfully - a man clearly three times his age.  Yuri felt an odd swell of pride for the boy.

“Minami, are you able to clarify the extent of your injuries, and what happened to prevent you from being able to participate today?”  The reporter had seemed taken aback for a moment, though to his credit he recovered quickly, and Yuri was less than impressed when the microphone that had previously been aimed at him was shoved almost directly in Minami’s face.

He was about ready to deck the guy.  Again.

“Not to  _ you _ I won’t.”  Nose hoisted up in the air, Minami turned away from the man, eyes flashing with annoyance.  He managed to surprise Yuri yet again, by grabbing hold of his hand and marching - well, limping - back towards the private area that only staff and performers were permitted to access.  Yuri followed obediently behind for a few paces, finding himself amused by the display, before taking pity on the boy and pulling him to a stop.

Guiding Minami’s arms over his shoulders with more care than he was used to showing, Yuri stooped and reached behind himself to hook his arms beneath Minami’s legs, hoisting the surprised teen up onto his back.  With one last vicious glare back at the flashing cameras of the reporters who had - thankfully - decided not to try and follow, he carried his charge through the door at the end and to relative safety.

The chairs were relatively comfortable, and yet Minami still winced and fidgeted as he was carefully set down upon the plush cushions.  It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do for the moment.  Yuri was exhausted, he was confused, but above all that he wanted- no, he  _ needed  _ answers, and Minami was the only one who could give him those.

“Want to tell me who those assholes were that jumped you, and why you were out there in the first place?”  The room was blessedly empty, and as Yuri settled into the chair beside Minami he let out a small sigh of relief.  Seconds ticked by without a response, and Yuri was too tired to care, the sound of thumping music drifting through the closed doors between them and the rink.

“I don’t know who they were, exactly.”  Minami finally answered, shifting in his seat, his gaze fixed stubbornly on the linoleum floor.  “But I know what they wanted.”  He swallowed, seeming nervous, and Yuri was tempted for one insane moment to reach of and take the blonde’s hand.  “Someone, some higher-up and I don’t know who, made a bet.  A bet on  _ me _ .  That I’d fail, that I wouldn’t place in today’s competition.”

“And they were there to make sure that bet won.”  Yuri all but growled, and Minami nodded, still refusing to look at him.

“This wasn’t the first time.”  His voice trembled, and Yuri recognised that emotion;  _ shame _ .  Minami was ashamed of something, of something that had happened, or that they had done.  “They offered me money at first, to throw the Nationals, to  _ lose _ so I wouldn’t get through to the US finals.  I wouldn’t take it, the money.”  Large brown eyes turned, finally, to look up at Yuri, near enough pleading with him to please,  _ please _ believe what he was saying.

Yuri believed it, and he  _ did _ take hold of Minami’s hand, then.  His fingers were cold as ice, and they trembled slightly.

“I didn’t tell anyone, didn’t want to  _ worry  _ them all.  And, I got through, and it was  _ amazing _ .  It was-”  There were tears threatening to spill over his lashes, and his voice had begun to tremble.  “I’ve never skated so well, I came  _ first _ .  All I needed was to do well today and I’d be through to the Grand Prix final, and…”

“Hey, this isn’t your fault.”  The words didn’t sound like his own, sounded a bit too close to  _ Victor _ for his liking, yet Yuri found that he meant them.

“They said, I needed to be taught a lesson.  To be put  _ in my place _ .  I was  _ scared _ , I don’t know what they would have done if you hadn’t-”  Yuri knew.  He wasn’t blind, and he wasn’t stupid; he had seen the results of athletes refusing to throw a result.  It happened less in the skating world, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t happen at  _ all _ .  Minami was simply unfortunate; he could see how the boy could quite easily be underestimated, considering his small stature and childlike innocence.  Still, placing first in the Nationals was no mean feat; the blonde could obviously skate.  Likely not as well as  _ he _ could, but still, Yuri would have liked to have seen it.

“I’ll kill them.”  He finally ground out, wrapping an arm around Minami’s shoulders and pulling the smaller teen into his side, meaning every word.  “I’ll make them wish they’d never been born, and then I’ll kill them.”  It was as close to saying  _ I’ll protect you _ as he could manage, blood seeming to boil in his veins before cooling to a slow simmer.

Yuri remained at Minami’s side well into the night; the police had been called once the truth of the matter had been revealed, and while Minami had been friendly enough with the officer who had come to take his statement, Yuri could tell that he wasn’t entirely comfortable around her.  Around  _ anyone _ , really, save the solid presence at his side and the arm wrapped tightly around his shoulders.  Yuri’s statement seemed to take longer; did he know the men, could he identify them if asked, where  _ exactly _ did he hit them, what  _ exactly _ did they say?  Finally, hours later, they were left alone once more, Minami’s head pillowed upon Yuri’s shoulder.  He could tell that the boy was exhausted, the last of his energy sapped by the late hour and too many questions.

They parted only once Minami’s coach appeared - looking flustered and more than a little terrified for the blonde, having been detained by police for what sounded like a less pleasant rendition of their  _ own _ questioning - and even then only under protest.  Yuri wasn’t happy about it in the slightest; he had met Minami for the first time, potentially saved his life, spent the evening and most of the night with the Japanese boy pressed against his side, and now he had to leave him to the care of someone else?

If looks could have killed, Minami would have been in need of a new coach, and Yuri would have been locked up for murder.

“Message me, as soon as you get back safely.”  Pressing a slip of paper into Minami’s hand, Yuri refused to break eye contact until the smaller boy nodded, the grin on his face not quite meeting his eyes as it had earlier.  “Don’t you  _ dare _ forget.”

“I won’t.”  Minami clutched the string of hastily scribbled numbers tightly to his chest.  “I won’t forget, I mean.  And thank you, for everything you’ve done.”  Yuri simply huffed and looked away, embarrassed by the heartfelt thanks, and only looked back once Minami had turned to leave the room.

* * *

“What got into you today?”  Mila was waiting for him when he got back to the hotel, lounging outside his room and he wondered just how long she had been waiting there for him to get back.  Long enough, by the way she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and he realised belatedly that she had likely been worried for him.

“Shut the hell up, hag.”  His insult might have held more impact, if not for the note of exhaustion in his voice and the half-hearted glare that she smiled almost fondly at.  He slammed the door in her face with less gusto than normal, yet still likely loud enough to wake those few guests staying on his floor.  A glance at the clock by his bedside showed almost three thirty in the morning, and Yuri left his clothes where they fell as he collapsed into bed, clutching his phone to his chest to wait for Minami’s text.

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, bedside lamp still lit, yet the clock glowed four fifteen when his phone finally buzzed, shocking him awake, and it took a couple of attempts swiping at his lock screen to open the message.

 

_ I’m back safe.  Thank you again, I’ll figure out how to repay you soon - Mx _

 

_ You can repay me by not getting hurt again, idiot _

 

_ I’ll try :) sweet dreams - Mx _

 

Yuri could not have replied again had he wanted to, eyes sliding shut long before his phone screen dimmed and shut off, laying forgotten on the bed beside him as he slipped into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I got art!
> 
> http://robot-fuckr.tumblr.com/post/153175659379/a-scene-from-this-fic-by-syrum-i-lov-this-fic-so
> 
> :D


	3. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri discovers that news travels fast in America...

The morning came and went, and Yuri saw none of it.  He was left to sleep, thankfully, and as he had nothing planned for the day there had been no reason to set an alarm.

It was just after noon when he finally stirred, chattering voices in the hallway outside his door enough to rouse the sleeping Russian.  They moved away, vanishing into nothingness even as Yuri rolled over, grumbling low curses as he tried in vain to slip back into slumber for just an hour or so more.  It was not to be though, and after a time Yuri found that he was growing bored, reaching out for his phone and finding that it was not sitting upon the side table as it normally would.

He patted the covers around him and, finding nothing, finally rolled over so he could peer bleary-eyed over the side of the bed, finally tracking down the missing device and plugging it in to charge, the low battery light blinking slowly at him.  There was a text waiting for him, from Mila, and while he wasn’t interested in putting up with her so soon after waking, he opened the message regardless.

 

_You awake yet, sleeping beauty?  I have something you need to see_

 

Backing out from the message, Yuri opened the one Minami had sent last night, re-reading the short text a few times before tapping out a belated reply.

 

_Where are you?_

 

In all likelihood, Minami would not be awake as yet; he would need time to heal, and unless the police had wanted more from him, Yuri _hoped_ he had been left alone to rest and recuperate.

Yuri couldn’t help himself; he was curious.  It had been a long time since he had come across anyone worth his time, anyone worth showing any sort of interest in aside from his usual disdain.  Minami was...different.  In such a short time, he had shown Yuri both strength and weakness, a confidence that was not marred with conceit in the way that his own was, and Yuri found that he needed to know _more_.

He wanted to see Minami skate.

The cable was not quite long enough to sit comfortably in bed, but Yuri made do, opening his browser app with a swipe of his thumb.  His search brought up page after page of results, of photographs.  Minami wearing a sparkling gold and red ensemble, Minami smiling for the cameras during an interview, Minami mid-jump and grinning from ear to ear, caught in a moment of pure joy as he _danced_ on the ice.

Muting his phone, Yuri selected one of the many videos and hit play.  It wasn’t the same without the music, not really, but it gave him what he needed and there was something surprisingly intimate about what he was doing; he did not want to share it, to risk anyone else overhearing.  Minami’s movements were fluid, effortless, almost unaware of the cameras and the eyes fixed upon him.  He seemed to smile almost constantly, laugh when he landed a jump, even grinning through his stumbles and falls.  His technique wasn’t perfect, but he seemed to be having _fun_.  Yuri, despite himself, found that he envied the boy.

Except he wasn’t a ‘boy’ in the strictest sense.  To his surprise, Minami’s birth date put him at over _a year and a half_ older than Yuri himself.

_Seventeen_ .  Yuri huffed out a quiet laugh, before closing the browser down and placing his phone back on the nightstand.  He didn’t look it, certainly; Yuri had pegged him as fourteen in the alley, fifteen under the fluorescent tubing of the first aid room, he would certainly never have guessed Minami was _older_ than he was.

Yuri’s phone buzzed at the same time as there was a knock at the door.  Stumbling to his feet, he lurched over to answer it and tell whoever was on the other side, in no uncertain terms, to fuck off.

Mila waited for him out in the hallway, tapping the toe of her foot impatiently on the carpeted floor and looking less than happy.  Yuri was tempted to slam the door in her face again, yet something about her expression stopped him and he simply scowled up at the redheaded woman.

“Yakov wants to see you.”  She finally sighed, because of _course_ he did - the man probably wanted to know what Yuri had been thinking when he all but fled from the rink, and had likely seen the aborted excuse for an interview too.  Yuri was in trouble and he knew it.

And the worst thing; he didn’t have an excuse, either.  Not really, not one that his coach would either accept or understand.  Mila might, if he could bring himself to tell her.  But then, she was just as likely to simply tease him on the matter and spend the next week or so poking fun at the cause of his apparent distraction.

“Yura.”  The door was part way closed by the time she spoke again, softer this time, and Yuri stopped still at the pet name though did not look up at her.  As a result, he did not see the hand, and jumped slightly when slender fingers landed upon his head as though meaning to thread through his hair.  There was a pause, and Mila was gone, something unsaid hanging in the air between them.

* * *

Yakov’s face was set into a near-perfect image of neutrality when Yuri finally took a seat across from his aging coach.  Near-perfect, because despite the thin set of his mouth and carefully flat gaze, both Yuri and Mila had been around the man for long enough to learn how to read his moods.  There was a line between his eyebrows that sat a little deeper if he was irritated or concerned, and at that moment in time it was about as deep as it was going to get.  Yuri glanced over at Mila as she lounged in the corner pretending to busy herself with her nails, earning a small shrug and a tiny flicker of a smile.

This was going to be worse than he thought, it seemed.  Swallowing thickly, Yuri shifted in his seat and clasped his hands in his lap to keep them still.  It wasn’t a pose he adopted often, and never in public - he had an image to keep up, after all - but it may help his case a little, he thought, if Yakov thought he was paying complete attention.  There was a time and a place for disregarding his coach, lord knows he did it often enough.

Had he not done well enough in his free skate?  The score he achieved was astronomical, a few minutes of poor choices and bad behaviour could not wipe that out entirely, could it?

“Yuri.”  He couldn’t help it; he winced.  Yet, Yakov’s tone was gentle, if firm.  He did not shout, did not tower over his youngest student in a vain attempt to drum some sense of responsibility into the boy.  It was strange, it was disconcerting, and Yuri had no idea what to do with himself.  “You haven’t seen the papers yet, I take it?”  Yuri’s blood ran cold.

_Oh shit_.

Was it the altercation outside the rink?  A fight during a competition could see him suspended, perhaps indefinitely if the ‘victim’ decided to press charges.  He would certainly be prevented from continuing, that much was certain.  He would be kicked out of the competition, any medals he had already earned stripped from him, and he would have to wait until the next season to take part again - if they would allow it.  That he was acting to protect another was irrelevant if those at the top decided as such; he had gotten into a fight, and it would need to be investigated.

Or was it the near-fight with the journalists?  He hadn’t said or done anything _too_ bad he thought, from what he could remember at least, and he hadn’t hit anyone.  He’d _wanted_ to, but he _hadn’t_ , and they couldn’t pull him up on intent, surely?  So his interaction with Minami, then.  It had to have looked bad, or at least _suggestive_.  He hadn’t really thought about what he was doing at the time, and from the tissue to how Minami had defended him then grabbed his hand without any complaint from Yuri, to the way Yuri had carried the smaller boy to relative safety - he could see how anyone might jump to conclusions.  Hell, the tissue alone had been enough for those reporters!

Yakov sat watching him throughout all of this, noting the small flickers that ran across Yuri’s face as he tried desperately to grasp at what might have happened, and what it would mean for him.  Eventually, Yuri simply shook his head, mute for the moment.  A hand wizened from age passed the rolled up newspaper that sat beside Yakov on the small couch he occupied, and Yuri all but snatched it from him, trembling slightly with trepidation as he unrolled it and smoothed it out on his lap.

_RUSSIAN TIGER SAVES LIFE OF JAPANESE PRODIGY IN DEADLY SKATING SCANDAL_

It wasn’t what he was expecting, at all.  Below the headline, a bold title that took up a good third of the page, was a large photograph of the two of them; Yuri with the tissue pressed to Minami’s lip, though only the tiniest amount of white was visible, the rest mostly hidden by Yuri’s hand.  Minami looked as though he was about to cry, eyes shining with an expression that Yuri could not remember him wearing.  The main surprise, though, was Yuri himself; he looked... _fierce_ , was the only word he could really use to describe it.  The photographer must have gotten lucky - they had caught him mid-turn, right before he had the chance to focus his glare on the gathered group.

The photograph took up the majority of the remainder of the front page, leaving space for only a few lines of text, and Yuri quickly turned to page four to find that they had somehow managed to produce a _double page spread_ about the whole thing.

More photographs adorned the two pages; one of him on the ice that same day, the telltale white bandages around his hand stained with his own blood.  One of Minami in a striped waistcoat laughing as he landed a jump, dual-coloured hair flicking up and back as he moved.  There was even one of the moment Minami grabbed his hand, Yuri’s look of surprise evident while Minami’s determined expression seemed to be the main focus of the picture.  There were, thankfully, none of the impromptu piggy-back ride as they retreated from the flashing cameras and invasive questioning.

“Tiger..?”  Yuri’s mouth was dry, the words blurring together on the page as he tried to read, struggling with the less than familiar alphabet.

“It’s better than ‘pixie’, don’t you think?”  Jumping at the unexpected reply and turning in his seat with a snarl on his lips, Yuri found himself face to face with a smiling Victor.  He had not heard the door open or close, and the man had not been in the room before, had he really been so focused on the paper in his lap that he had zoned out to that extent?  That he would not notice the arrival of another?  His frantic musings and internal irritation were interrupted by Victor throwing his arms around Yuri, dragging him into an awkward seated hug and causing him to squawk indignantly, shoving the older man off him with an annoyed huff and a few choice words.  Victor did not seem particularly put-out by his less than favourable reaction, pulling himself upright and adjusting his tie.

Yakov nodded his approval, before standing to give Victor his seat and striding from the room.  The bedroom door of his hotel suite clicked shut behind him, and Mila took that as her cue to exit as well, ruffling Yuri’s hair with a quiet and heartfelt ‘good job’ whispered into his ear.

“They’re both very proud of you.”  Victor took up the still warm seat, leaning forward so that he could address Yuri more directly.  They were alone, but that didn’t stop the embarrassed flush that heated Yuri’s cheeks, causing him to dip his head to try to hide the blush behind his hair.  “For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you too.”  Yuri’s flush only darkened further and he glanced away, more than a little flustered.

“Shut up.”  It came out as a low mutter, and Victor simply laughed, the sound loud and clear as a bell.  It wasn’t that Yuri didn’t _like_ the compliments, the praise - it was that he wasn’t _used_ to it.  For him at least, the only real praise he got was either a secondary compliment meant for another, or somewhat back-handed.

_Oh, Yakov has done such a good job of training you!_

_That performance was an improvement on your last._

_You’ve trained with Victor Nikiforov, right?  It really shows._

“I know this whole thing probably hasn’t sunk in yet, but you’re going to have to decide what you want to do next.”  Yuri looked up at the man and frowned, scrunching his nose slightly and shrugging off the hand that had moved to lay upon his shoulder.

“What the hell are you talking about?”  He growled, feeling distinctly uncomfortable and wanting nothing more than to return to his room, curl under the covers and sleep until he could think straight again.

Or skate.  Skating always calmed him, put him in a better mood.  It helped to straighten out thoughts and work through ideas that would not have made sense at any other time.  Yet, that was not an option, not for the moment at least.

“You’ve gone from ‘just another skater’ to a celebrity, practically overnight.”  He might have taken offense to that, if Victor hadn’t raised a hand to silence him for the moment.  “You were well-known in skating circles, but not to the world as a whole.  You’re not ignorant, you know figure skating isn’t a widely popular sport.  Now, thousands of people who would never have looked twice at you will recognise you in the street, until the _next_ big story comes along.  It will be-”  Victor paused for a moment there, glancing out the window, his eyes narrowing as though seeing something that Yuri could not.  “It will be tricky.”  He finally finished, turning his attention back on the younger skater with another of his smiles.  Yuri simply snorted, turning his attention back to the newspaper now that his heart had stopped pounding quite so viciously within his chest.

“No one’s going to treat me any different, just because I have my picture in the paper.”  Yuri sneered, wondering offhand if he would be allowed to keep the newspaper in question.

“Go and look outside.”  Frowning, Yuri shot Victor a questioning look, but the man was no longer smiling.  His expression had lost that false cheerfulness and for the first time he looked...concerned?  It was disconcerting at best, and Yuri did as he was told, standing to look out of the large glass windows that lined one half of the room.

The street outside was busier than normal.  There were the typical loud motorists, yellow cabs dotted between the privately owned cars and people going about their daily business as though nothing had really changed.

Except something _had_ changed - there were reporters _everywhere!_  The colour drained from Yuri’s face, and he had to place a hand on the glass to steady himself.

“Do you see?”  Victor had moved to stand beside him, looping an arm over Yuri’s shoulders, feeling the tension radiating from the boy.  “This isn’t like anything you’ve experienced before.  This is _big_.”

“So what the fuck am I supposed to do about it?”  His voice was shrill, pitch rising steadily as he stared down at the camera-wielding masses below.  He hadn’t shrugged Victor off, instead leaning into the contact like a lifeline, more than a little overwhelmed by the gathered crowds who - thankfully - were not looking up and so had not spotted them yet.

“Whatever you need to do about it.”  Victor replied, leading him away from the window and back to the chair before anyone might notice them.  “The media loves stories like this, and the public will lap it up.  Your story has been published in every major paper around the country, and I’ve already had confirmation that similar stories are doing the rounds in both Japan and Russia at the very least.  They’re going to want interviews, but it’s up to you whether _you_ want to or not.”

“And if I don’t want to?”

“Then you don’t.”  Victor shrugged, seemingly nonplussed by his response.  “It’s as simple as that.”  And Yuri knew it wouldn’t be - he may still be a ‘kid’ by most people’s standards, albeit only for a short while longer, but he wasn’t blind.  He may not have been mobbed by the press before, but he had seen what it was like for others, and he was fairly certain that they would not be taking ‘no’ for an answer.

Yuri’s phone buzzed in his pocket, reminding him of the message he had received when Mila had dragged him out of bed - he had been distracted, had forgotten about it almost as soon as she had spoken, but the familiar vibration dragged the memory back to the forefront of his mind, and he quickly pulled it from the pocket of his hoodie.

Two messages, both from Minami.

 

_I’m at my hotel, not allowed to use my foot for a while, doctors orders.  Is everything alright?  - Mx_

 

_Yuri, has something happened? - Mx_

 

He was _worried_ , and that seemed like an entirely foreign concept for Yuri.  They had met less than twenty four hours ago, and while they had certainly been pushed together far faster than a normal friendship, to be _worried_ about someone he barely knew - Yuri knew he should have felt annoyance at that knowledge, as he normally would for something so idiotic.  Yet, warmth seemed to bloom in his chest, and he gripped his phone just a little tighter as he tapped back his response.

 

_Everything is fine.  Where is your hotel and what room number?_

 

It was ridiculous, they were both being ridiculous, and for the first time in his life Yuri did not _care_.  Glancing up, he found Victor watching him closely, for once not trying to invade his bubble of personal space, carefully gauging his reaction as Yuri set his jaw.

“I haven’t got a damn clue what to do about this shit.”  He gestured to the window, earning a nod of understanding from Victor as he stood, the taller man standing to meet him, choosing not to admonish him for his use of language.  “But I do know what I want right now.”  The phone in his hand buzzed again, catching both of their attention.  “I need a ride.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Finally, we get more Minami!
> 
> Chapter four may take a couple of days to post unfortunately, it depends on how I feel and if I'm able to write it in time to post tomorrow night.


	4. Minami

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is RIDICULOUSLY hard to write about a character who we don't have a NAME for! So apologies, Minami's coach will forever be known as...Minami's coach!

Everything hurt, a deep ache that seemed to travel through to his very bones, and Minami wanted nothing more than to slip back into the oblivion of sleep.  Even his  _ eyelids _ seemed to hurt, protesting as he forced them open against bruising and too little rest, glancing blearily around the small hotel room as he tried to work out what was happening and who was gently squeezing his shoulder to try to wake him.

Well, one eyelid protested, the other refused to open at  _ all. _  It hurt too much to try, so Minami made do with just half of his vision, staring up into the worried face of his coach as comprehension slowly began to dawn on him again.

“Minami?”  The hand on his shoulder moved to stroke gently through his hair, and it was tempting to simply let his eye close once more and allow the pull to sleep to drag him under.  “I’m sorry, there’s a policeman here to see you, he’s brought a doctor with him.  They need to document your injuries, for the report.”  The words seemed to wash over him, but he allowed her to carefully slide him up into a seated position, glancing over her shoulder before backing up to allow access to the bed.

“Hello Minami.”  There was pressure on the mattress at his side, a dip as someone sat, and he glanced up through one hooded eye at the new arrival.  “Or would you prefer Kenjirou?”  She seemed friendly enough, her smile disarming, and he might have smiled back had his damaged face allowed him the opportunity.

“Minami is fine.”  He finally replied, just a beat too slow, voice crackling in his dry throat.  To say that he felt like hell was something of an understatement; even the painkillers he had swallowed down before drifting off to sleep had barely dulled the edge of the pain, and if anything his few hours sleep seemed to have made everything seem  _ worse _ .  A glass of barely cold water was pressed to his lips and he drank gladly, one hand raising to steady the glass while the other remained in his lap.

“It’s nice to meet you Minami, I’m Doctor Pundare.  I need to take a look at your injuries, is that alright with you?”  The glass, half empty, retreated and his coach disappeared from his field of vision.  She was treating him like she would a child, he realised - they both were, really - and Minami found that he did not mind overly.  He felt entirely too tired, too fragile, and he nodded once to show his consent.  Hands prodded around his eye, gentle yet not without their sting, and he winced.

“Major bruising around the left eye causing swelling of the lid and continuing down into the temple and cheek area.  May require further investigation if the pain lasts longer than a week or if vision is affected.”  A light shone in his eye and he squinted against it.  “No indication of a concussion.”  He could hear the scribbling of pencil on paper, and realised belatedly that the man dressed in the uniform of the local constabulary was making notes as the doctor dictated to him.  “Blood smear on chin from split lip, not severe enough to require stitches.  Mild finger-shaped bruising to the throat, one hand from what I can see - can you open your mouth for me please, Minami?”  He did as he was told, and the light flicked on between his teeth to shine down his throat, before clicking off again.  “No immediately visible damage to the larynx - you can close your mouth again, thank you - some impact bruising to the shoulder with a shallow graze, no infection present.”  She continued for some time, and Minami zoned out after a while, watching how the late morning sunlight streaming through the window left a dappled rainbow where it shone through a vase sat, empty, upon the sill.

Minami was certain he must have dozed off at one point, because the hand squeezing his shoulder made him jump slightly where he sat, jarring his bruised ribs and making him yelp.  “I’m sorry, but the sooner we can get this finished the sooner you will be able to get some rest.  Are you okay to continue?”  Doctor Pundare was still smiling at him, using that same reassuring tone, but he could see how her sharp eyes missed nothing.  Every wince, every movement, she saw it all and he wasn’t certain whether to be impressed or a little afraid by that fact.

“Sorry.”  He finally muttered, not yet back to his usual, talkative self.  It was then that his phone decided to buzz, vibrating on the table beside the bed and going ignored by everyone save Minami himself, who spared it a quick glance - it would have to wait, he knew.

“I’m going to need to see your back, and any damage below the waist, is that alright with you, Minami?”  The bedsheets had pooled at his waist, and below that a pair of black boxers preserved his modesty; he hoped he would not have to remove  _ those  _ at the very least.  The bandages that Yuri had wrapped so very carefully around his torso had been removed, yet Minami could not bring himself to look down, to see the damage.  Not yet, anyway.  “I’ll need you to lie on your front, just for a short while, it will make checking the injuries on your back easier.”

Easier, perhaps, though no less painful - the worst of the bruising was around the front and right side of Minami’s ribs, and it took a moment for him to find a position that did not send pain shooting through his chest.  The doctor waited patiently for him to still before starting up her inspection of his back.  Minami was more than a little pleased when her estimation of ‘a short while’ turned out to be accurate, and he was allowed to roll over onto his back once more.  This time, he remained horizontal, the plush pillows beneath his head a form of pure bliss in his current state.

“Bruising primarily centered across the front of the left leg, primarily along the shin, with some small amount of bruising to the right.  Left ankle badly sprained and swollen.”  She had unwrapped the bandages that had remained tied around the sprained limb, and Minami could feel it throbbing where it sat upon the mattress.  “I would recommend keeping it elevated and remaining off it for the next few days, at least until the swelling goes down.  In case the pain becomes too unbearable, or you find you can’t sleep, I will leave some painkillers for you.  Otherwise, a combination of paracetamol and ibuprofen should be all you’ll need.  If your eye starts giving you problems, or you find you have double vision, come and see me.  Other than that, and unless you have anything further I need to know about, I think you’re going to heal up just fine; give it a few weeks and take it easy.”

“Thank you.”  Minami offered a small half-smile up at the doctor, who returned the gesture, before pulling the covers over him once more - leaving his injured ankle exposed - and showed herself to the door.  His one good eye was closed before she was out of his field of vision, and three sets of footsteps left the room, leaving him entirely alone for the moment.

It would be a simple thing to slip back into the dreamless sleep he had been roused from not too long ago, yet the new message light was blinking slowly on his phone, and Minami had never been particularly good at ignoring it for long.  Reaching the thing where it sat on the table beside the bed was an almost impossible task alone, considering how his body protested at the movement, but he managed it eventually.  Phone grasped within his fingers, he lit the screen and quickly opened the text from Yuri.

 

_ Where are you? _

 

Minami frowned; the message was bizarre at best, downright concerning at worst.  True, he did not yet know Yuri well enough to really differentiate between the two, and the Russian was certainly very abrupt - both in the way he spoke and the way he typed, but that was not quite enough to tamper down Minami’s concern.

 

_ I’m at my hotel, not allowed to use my foot for a while, doctors orders.  Is everything alright?  - Mx _

 

He could hear voices outside the door, lowered enough that much of the conversation was lost.  Still, some snippets were able to slip through, and while Minami pondered over the worrying message as he started to doze off again, he found himself half-listening to what he could grasp.

_ “...as bad as it could have been...wor...very lucky.” _

_ “Should we...moving...leads?” _

_ “We’ll...you...find anything.” _

He could just about follow the conversation, yet if anything else was said Minami caught none of it, his breathing levelling out into a slow rhythm as the pull of sleep finally dragged him under.

* * *

The first thing Minami noticed when he awoke once more, was the position of the sunlight from the partially open curtains.  It had moved from the spot on the floor it had covered earlier, and had decided to shine directly onto his face, earning a low grumble of annoyance from the boy.  Squinting in the early afternoon sunlight, he glanced around the room, neither hearing nor seeing any sign of his coach.  She had to have returned at some point; his damaged foot had been propped up on a pile of pillows, and it throbbed mercilessly without the aid of painkillers to numb the ache.

It was with a jolt that he remembered the strange message from Yuri, and a pang of guilt that he had made the other skater wait not once, but  _ twice _ for his reply.

Except, when he checked his phone, there  _ was _ no new message from Yuri.  Just his own staring back at him, and had it even been read?  Was Yuri alright?  Minami swallowed down the irrational panic rising in his chest, knowing it would do him no good, trying to ignore the way his heart beat just that little bit quicker.

 

_ Yuri, has something happened? - Mx _

 

He regretted the message almost as soon as he hit send; if something  _ had _ happened, Yuri would not be able to reply.  And if it hadn’t, which was the more likely scenario he reasoned, then the Russian skater would probably simply think he was an idiot, or an annoyance.

Minami was almost surprised when his phone buzzed in response.

 

_ Everything is fine.  Where is your hotel and what room number? _

 

It hadn’t been what he was expecting, yet Minami found a slow smile creeping over his face, held in check only by the bruising that stunted his expressions, and likely would for a while yet.  He didn’t know the full address of the hotel, but he  _ did _ know the street name, and that should be enough, right?  He sent the message quickly, before he could second-guess himself, and set about hobbling to the bathroom on his one good foot and with his bruised ribs slowing him down further.

He needed to  _ bathe _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STILL SCREAMING ABOUT TODAY'S EPISODE
> 
> This is why Wednesday is my favourite day <3
> 
> Next chapter: Minami gets yelled at, and Yuri wonders why he wants to help this little idiot quite as much as he does.


	5. Magnetism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had to split this chapter into two, as it was getting a little long and it is getting quite late. Writing this went in a slightly different direction than planned!
> 
> Feat. Yuri's hotel-snobbishness and Miami's coach's ACTUAL NAME! I have watched ep 5 at least fifteen times while writing fic (for research...) and it's taken me until NOW to catch that he actually calls her by name!
> 
> (If you're interested, it's 8 minutes in, and she's Kanako.)

The hotel bathroom was small and cramped, only just large enough for a small bath, a tiny sink and a toilet that was so close to the opposite wall anyone taller than about five foot five would wonder what to do with their knees.  Not that Minami had any real issue with the size of the room, being a little on the shorter side himself, and in his current state it made things rather substantially easier for him.

The painkillers had been left on the dressing table in the corner of his room - more of a glorified table with a mirror hung above it, really - and he downed two with water from the sink, leaving the bottle wedged between the hot tap and the wall for later.  It had taken him a good five minutes to hobble slowly into the tiny room and close the door behind him, his ankle sending shooting pains up his leg every time he accidentally jarred or knocked it, while his ribs protested against almost everything, breathing included; he was starting to wonder if the effort was actually worth it.

Minami perched himself on the edge of the bath, suddenly at a loss on what to actually do.  His ankle made standing impossible without support, and his ribs limited what his upper body could do, making getting _into_ the bath somewhat tricky, and getting _out_ again nigh on impossible.

Yet, he needed to bathe, rather badly from what he could tell.  There was a chance he might have guests - or at least _a_ guest - very soon, and it was unfair and a little embarrassing to be around _anyone_ in the state he was in.

“Minami?”  There was a knock at the bathroom door, and he was immeasurably glad he hadn’t locked it behind him.  “Can I come in?”

“The door’s open, don’t worry.”  He called back, plastering the most cheerful look he could muster across his face and trying not to appear as though he was in too much discomfort.  It didn’t seem to work, if the expression of concern Kanako still wore was anything to go by.  She looked exhausted, and he wondered if she had slept at all since finding out about the attack, possibly not knowing her.

“You should be in bed, not sitting in here in your underwear.”  Kanako scolded gently, picking up the bottle of pills and placing the lid back on.  “You’ve taken two of these?”

“Yeah, my foot was hurting me.”  Minami admitted, glancing off to the left in embarrassment as a slight flush covered his cheeks, travelling down his neck and to his shoulders, much of it lost to the purpling discolouration.  “I’m sure it’s okay though, the doctor said it would hurt a bit, I’ll be better in no time and back on the ice, I promise.”  A gentle hand settled in his hair, and Kanako smiled down at him, the concern still there yet overlaid with immeasurable fondness for her charge.

“Don’t go rushing back out there, take your time Minami.  You’ll heal, but there’s no rush.”  He nodded silently, and she seemed appeased for the moment.  “Now, let’s get you back into bed, alright?  The more rest you get, the better.”

“Not just yet.  I want a bath, I don’t feel very clean right now.”  There was a flash of concern that flitted across Kanako’s face at his phrasing, yet Minami had turned his attention to the bath taps for the moment and did not see the change, water gushing into the empty bath and disappearing down the plug hole as he tried to work out how to fit the plug without hurting himself.  He knew he could ask for help, Kanako was _right there_ , but this was such a simple thing.  “Yuri might be visiting later, I think.”  He added, leaning into the bath a short way before giving up and shooting his coach a pleading glance.

She knew that name, twice over, and yet Kanako was certain she knew which Yuri Minami had meant, even without asking.  Though why the boy known as the _Russian Punk_ , with his bad attitude and well-known dislike of those who would dare compete against him, would deign to visit another skater was completely beyond her, even if he _had_ saved Minami’s life.

She wasn’t sure, yet, whether she wanted her charge associating with the younger skater.  It was not her place to voice such thoughts though, and so instead she leaned over to push the bath plug into place.

* * *

“You’re still angry.”  Much of the car ride had passed in relative silence, the low hum of the radio playing something classical that Yuri only barely recognised, mixing with the rumble of the engine as unfamiliar streets passed by outside the tinted windows of the hire car.  They had slipped from the hotel unseen, dressed in unfamiliar clothes and leaving via one of the fire exits, the car already waiting as though Victor had _known_.

And perhaps he had, because this was _Victor_ , ever-impulsive and entirely ridiculous man that he was.

“Angry?”  Yuri loosed a bark of laughter, the sound without any sort of mirth.  “No, I’m not angry.  Angry is missing out on gold because some idiot judge has a bias for another competitor.  Angry is finding out that the cat sitter used cheap cat food instead of the grain-free stuff, despite being told _specifically_ not to.”  His native Russian fell easily from his lips, so much simpler than his unwieldy use of English, so much _easier_ to portray what he meant without stumbling over words that should not have fitted together yet somehow _did_.  Turning in his seat, he fixed a look on Victor, expression colder than the ice upon which they performed.  “I want them dead.  I want them to suffer, as he suffered, and I want them to die.”

“I can understand that.”  Victor agreed with a calm ease that should perhaps have concerned the younger skater.  “But it isn’t like you to get so wound up about something that doesn’t directly affect you.”

“What the fuck is _that_ supposed to mean?”  The left indicator clicked a steady rhythm as Victor pulled into one of the few parking spaces around the corner from the hotel Minami had mentioned in his message.

“It means that if this boy is important enough that you would brave reporters and skip breakfast to see him again, to make sure he’s alright, then you should hold onto that.”  The engine stilled beneath the bonnet, quiet sounds from the street outside filtering into the car now that the radio had grown silent.  The look Victor shot him was filled with an intensity that made Yuri’s breath catch, a look he had only seen the man wear out on the ice, and then only rarely.  “And if that is what you want, I will do everything in my power to help you to achieve it.”  Jaw slack, it took Yuri a moment to collect himself, and by the time his retort reached his lips Victor’s door had slammed shut behind him and the man was already slotting coins into a parking meter some way down the street.

It allowed Yuri a moment to simply breathe.  In the near silence, and much needed solitude that the car offered, he was able to collect himself, to ask _why_.  Why was he here?  Why, when he had seen the paper, seen Minami’s messages, had he been so determined to see the other boy as quickly as possible?

The immediate answer was of course entirely obvious; to make certain that he was alright, that he was resting after the _incident_ , and to see with his own eyes that the Japanese skater really was _safe_.

Beneath that, there were layers of something less pure, tainted with a bitter rage; he needed to see the extent of Minami’s injuries, to see for himself in the light of day what they had done to him.  He had checked him over at the time of course, and more discreetly in the skaters lounge as they waited for the police, yet he had not really had the time then to simply _look_ .  He needed this, needed to _know_ , because he needed to see just how much those bastards were going to have to _hurt_ if he ever came across them again.

There was something else there, too.  Something Victor had almost certainly seen, in his quiet determination and uncharacteristic concern for another.  He felt drawn to Minami, an impossible to ignore determination rushing through him like an overwhelming torrent of curiosity.  He had seemed so small and fragile out in that alley, and again in the privacy of the lounge as they sat together.  Yet in the presence of those reporters he was solid as a rock, never flinching under the gaze of so many questioning eyes, pushing back just as hard without resorting to lashing out with tongue or fists.

Yuri could not have done that, he knew.

Then, there was Minami on the ice.  Yuri had seen enough photographs, watched enough videos to know that the boy was more than mildly talented with a set of blades beneath his feet.  He danced and twirled, jumped and span, dragging the crowd along with him.  They were right there on the ice, feeling every bump, every marginally-off landing that had him skidding on his knees before regaining his balance.  They were there as he soared through the air, as the wind whipped through his dual-coloured locks, laughter bubbling over at the sheer _joy_ of it all.

It was nothing like Yuri had ever really seen before, and he _wanted_ .  His own performances were mostly based on the perfection of technique, there was nothing particularly _emotive_ about them.  The crowd applauded because he was _good_ at what he did, but he was simply a spectacle to be watched, to be admired, nothing more.

“Are we going?”  Victor’s door opened once more and a slip of paper was placed on the dashboard just behind the windscreen, interrupting the flow of his thoughts at such a point that Yuri flushed with a vague sense that he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t.  He slipped from the car without retort, following Victor as the much taller man’s long strides took him through the large double doors, past the front desk of the hotel - shooting the woman there a blinding smile as they passed - and into an elevator without pause, as though he had _known_ where to go.

Room 705.  The numbers seemed to stare down at him, and Yuri quashed the odd sense of nervousness that rose up within his belly, letting Victor knock with what was little more than a polite tap on the dented wood, knowing his own hard thumping knock would be rather less well received.

He took a moment to glance around as shuffling, and low voices, sounded from within the room.  The hallway was long, lined on either side with near-identical doors, some in a rather better state than others.  The carpet was bordering on threadbare, and while the place had been thoroughly cleaned, he could see the remnants of stains along several patches of wall.  It was certainly not a place _he_ would choose to stay, and he wondered why Minami had.

Or, more specifically, why Minami’s coach had; he would be surprised if Minami had booked a room in this hotel himself.

The door swung open, and a vaguely familiar face appeared; heart-shaped, somewhat pretty if Yuri was being honest, and with long brown hair tied neatly back into an intricate plait that looked a little too pristine to have been in place long.  He searched his memory for a name and came up blank - she was Minami’s coach, but other than that he knew nothing of the woman.

“I’m terribly sorry to intrude, but we came to see how Minami was doing.”  Victor’s usual charm was in place long before the woman had made an appearance, and Yuri wondered for a moment how his Japanese counterpart put up with the constant _flirting_ from the man towards others.  Yuuri was either endlessly forgiving, or an idiot, and Yuri was leaning towards the latter.

“Oh, it’s no trouble, we were expecting you.”  The woman beamed back, clearly slightly flustered by the appearance of the Russian skater-turned-coach, and Yuri detected the lie almost immediately; she had expected him, but not Victor, and that gave them the advantage for the moment.

Advantage over _what_ , he wasn’t quite sure.

“Please, do come in.”  She moved out of the way of the door, allowing Victor into the room with no less than his usual flourish, shooting an unreadable look at the slightly dour Yuri as he followed the older man in, hands buried deep within his pockets simply as somewhere to _put_ them.

“Yuri!”  The look on Minami’s face made the entire trip worth it, something clenching tightly within his stomach, and he was certain that - had he been able to - the boy would have been on his feet almost as soon as Yuri had entered the room, arms wrapped around his slight frame as laughter tinged with pure joy bubbled over.

Yet, he couldn’t.  It almost physically _hurt_ to see Minami not simply holding himself back from what would have been an easy affection, but rather because he simply _could not move_ to greet his guest.  Leg propped up on a stack of three pillows, bound in what appeared to be a compression bandage, he was all but bed-bound, and it seemed entirely _wrong_.

“I wasn’t sure you would come.”  He continued with no less enthusiasm, and Yuri rolled his eyes, kicking off his shoes in the doorway and seating himself on the edge of the bed, Minami’s coach and Victor going ignored for the moment.

“Idiot.”  He chided, but there was no real heat there.  “I’m not about to ask for your address and then _not_ turn up, that would be fucking stupid.”  He earned a musical laugh for his crass retort, and while Minami seemed happy enough with his presence, his expression could not detract from the ugly purpling of the bruise that seemed to cover almost half of his face.  His left eye was swollen entirely shut, and it was clearly painful, and Yuri wasn’t certain he was ready for this after all.

“I guess it would be.”  Minami finally conceded, and the air around them seemed heavy, his mouth twitching in an aborted motion as though he wanted to say more, but couldn’t.  The door behind Yuri opened, Victor murmuring something about _letting them talk it out_ to the woman before leading her out and leaving the two alone together.


	6. Bonjour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 2am, I have toothache and this hasn't been beta'd. Love to you all, and goodnight!

Almost as soon as the door clicked shut, Minami seemed to relax, tension draining from his shoulders as he slumped further back into the impressive mound of pillows that was keeping him mostly upright.  It was a curious reaction, and Yuri quirked a slender brow at the smaller boy, before scooting up the bed to sit beside him.  He was careful not to knock Minami’s damaged ankle, the hint of a bruise above the compression bandage enough to indicate the pain that must be radiating up his leg from the damage there.  He would have preferred to sit to Minami’s left, with less chance of hurting the boy should he situate himself there, yet his current position put him between Minami and the door, while still ensuring that he remained within the peripheral vision of Minami’s one good eye.

“I’m not sure how you can stand to be around him without getting, well... _ nervous _ .”

“Who, Victor?”  Yuri asked, attention flicking to the small wall-mounted television across the room that was playing some old film or other, the volume low enough to hear yet not so loud as to intrude.  “He’s an idiot, don’t worry about him.”  Minami seemed to gape for a moment, as though he could not quite comprehend how Yuri could so easily toss insults around.

“He’s  _ Victor Nikiforov _ , champion gold medalist and one of the best figure skaters who has ever  _ lived _ , you can’t just call him an  _ idiot _ like he’s...he’s…”

“Why can’t I?  It’s not like he’s listening.”  Not that it would make any difference whatsoever even if Victor  _ were _ listening; he had called him far worse on many occasions in the past, and likely would again too.  Yuri kept his gaze firmly fixed on the grainy picture of the small television, the intensity of Minami’s focus seeming to bore into the side of his skull, the sensation of being under such scrutiny bordering on the uncomfortable.  It was tempting to turn, to snap at the smaller boy so that he might back off just enough that Yuri could remember how to  _ breathe _ again.

“That’s beside the point!  He’s-”  Minami had taken to flailing somewhat dangerously as he tried to articulate his displeasure at the perceived slight, and it might have been amusing - or irritating, Yuri wasn’t certain - if not for the Japanese boy’s present state.  Before he could chastise Minami for overexerting himself, however, the potential rant was cut short with a bitten-off yelp and the wounded skater immediately curled in on himself.

“ _ Fuck _ , be more careful.”  Yuri snapped without really thinking, reaching out for the other boy, though his hands did not know where to go, unseen bruises hidden by a too-large tee and knee-length shorts.  Eventually he settled for grabbing hold of Minami’s hands, letting the boy squeeze them as the jolt of self-inflicted pain began to slowly subside.

“Sorry.”  Came the quiet whimper, and Yuri’s heart clenched at the sound.  “Sorry.”  It came again, tearful and a little broken, and it took everything Yuri had not to pull Minami to his chest and simply hold him there.

Because he  _ couldn’t _ take such liberties with the boy.  Not yet, at least, perhaps not ever.  Yuri wasn’t stupid, and he wasn’t blind; he knew full well what he was feeling, and while a little surprised at it, he wasn’t exactly  _ unused _ to finding other skaters attractive.  It wasn’t the  _ first _ time, after all.  Yet, his previous crushes - because that’s what they  _ were _ , illogical attraction to those so far out of his reach that Yuri hated himself a little bit every time it happened - had all been based on skill, on an appreciation of what they could do either on the ice or off it.

Personality had never once come into it.  Neither, really, had physical appearance.

Only, Minami’s hands were gripping so tightly, his shoulders trembling under the weight of something Yuri could not begin to imagine, and he berated himself silently for struggling over something so inconsequential as his own feelings when he was in the presence of a boy who likely still had a price on his head.

“Don’t.”  Yuri’ voice cracked slightly and he swallowed down the lump of something he could not quite pinpoint that had lodged within his throat.  “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, stupid.”  And then it was  _ Minami _ who was moving, letting go of Yuri’s hands, practically tossing them aside as he wrapped slender arms around Yuri’s chest to bury the one undamaged side of his face in the soft fabric of Yuri’s hoodie.

To say he had not been expecting it would have been something of an understatement.  Yuri sat for several long moments with no idea what to actually do as Minami seemed to bury himself as deep within Yuri’s chest as he possibly could.  Yuri couldn’t even tell whether the boy was crying, whether the shake to his slender shoulders was from tears or perhaps something else entirely, and he wasn’t about to pull back and find out.

If Minami wanted to cry into his chest, that was fine.  If he simply needed the physical contact, the reassurance that someone was just  _ there _ , then that was fine too he realised, arms snaking around to gently hold the boy in place, offering what little assurance he could that this was  _ fine _ , he was  _ okay  _ with this.

“I’ve caused everyone so much trouble already.”  There was more than a hint of self-derision colouring Minami’s voice, and while Yuri knew from his time spent in Japan that a certain amount seemed to be classed as  _ normal _ \- at least, with those he had interacted with directly, though that had primarily consisted of Yuuri and his family - this felt distinctly different to what he had experienced so far, particularly where Minami was concerned.

“Shut up, no you haven’t.”  Yuri found that his arms tightened, holding on even as he felt Minami start to slip away from him, and the thought of that frightened him more than it perhaps should.

“If I hadn’t gone outside…”

“Why  _ did  _ you go out?”  He had been wondering, had asked more than once on the night of the incident, and yet Minami had always carefully avoided the question.  He wouldn’t be able to this time though, Yuri was not about to let it go.  He could feel how the smaller skater tensed in his grip, the slight shake of his head  _ no _ , and Yuri wondered whether to push or to wait.

_ “She’s a pretty one, that coach of yours.”  He had been stretching, readying himself his warmup before the free skate, pulse pounding with a barely constrained excitement at the thought of what was soon to come.  Minami had been alone, as far as he had been aware, Kanako off catching up with an old acquaintance as he took the time to prepare himself mentally.  The voice in his ear, too close and with the edge of a threat to it, made him go rigid.  “It would be a shame if something had to  _ **_happen_ ** _ to her, wouldn’t it kid?” _

_ The man stepped away, long strides taking him quickly down the corridor, and Minami followed. _

“I…”  He seemed nervous, and Yuri simply waited, tampering down his impatience in favour of satisfying his curiosity.  “I made a mistake.  That man, the nasty one with the-”  Minami had reached up, one of his hands pressing lightly against the faint bruising around his throat, reliving the memory and clearly upset about the whole thing.  Yuri’s side felt unnaturally cold where Minami’s arm had been only moments before.  “He threatened to hurt Kanako, and I know I should have called the police or...or  _ something _ , but…”  He trailed off, but it was enough.

“But the cops would have been able to do fuck all about it until those assholes actually hurt someone.”  Yuri growled, partly to himself.  That  _ someone _ didn’t matter, not to men like  _ them _ .  Running for help would have likely made little difference to the situation, and with so little time left until the start of the competition, they would have found a way to stop Minami from skating one way or another.

“Right.”  He could feel how Minami seemed to relax into him, almost as though the boy had expected to be admonished for his actions.  And maybe he might have been, had he been speaking with his coach, or the police, or almost anyone else for that matter.

Anyone who hadn’t seen the nasty side of professional sports.  Who hadn’t fought their way up - quite literally, on occasion - with tooth and nail, as Yuri had.  The world was not a nice place, the police did not have all the answers, and Minami was lucky to still be alive.

Because it didn’t sound as though they had  _ needed _ him alive.

They were practically strangers still, and perhaps that was what made it easier to ease himself back into the mess of pillows, pulling Minami down with him so that they could both be at least partly comfortable in the slightly awkward position.  Yuri was ever-mindful of Minami’s leg, the limb jostling only slightly as they moved, and while the motion earned a wince from the smaller boy at least he did not cry out this time.

“You don’t have to do this.”  He was quiet, almost shy, and Yuri had to admit he found it more than a little endearing, though he would never admit it out loud.

“I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t want to.”  Yuri huffed back, burying slender fingers in Minami’s thick hair to trail blunt nails gently over his scalp.  “Are you always this clueless?”

“Not always.”  Minami conceded, shifting until he was able to find a vaguely comfortable position that did not put undue pressure on the bruising around his ribs, blonde hair tickling against the underneath of Yuri’s chin as he moved.  “Just around you, I think.”

Yuri’s heart stopped, then started again in quick succession, the world pausing for a rapid second as he tried to work out whether Minami had meant what he  _ thought _ he might mean.

But no, he couldn’t have; the Japanese skater seemed entirely unaffected, curled awkwardly against Yuri’s side as though he was little more than a glorified pillow.  Which would be fine, he thought, if only his heartbeat would quieten down enough that it would go unnoticed, because the rapid fluttering against his ribcage was  _ bound _ to give the game away.

“What are we watching?”  He finally asked, simply to break up the silence and to, hopefully, distract himself enough to calm down.  Ordinarily he might have pulled away, or have left the room entirely, putting distance between himself and the source of his discomfort.   _ Running away _ , his mind helpfully provided.  Yet that was not an option, with an injured and emotionally fragile seventeen year old leaning on him both mentally and physically.

“I’m not sure, some French movie, it was on and I didn’t like the silence.”  It seemed perhaps a little odd, considering Kanako had been present, yet he was not about to pry - it was none of his business, after all, and he wasn’t exactly curious about their interactions together.

“Do you even speak French?”

“Bonjour?”  Came the quiet reply, and glancing down Yuri was met with a sparkling brown eye as Minami bit down on his lower lip to stifle a giggle.  Yuri couldn’t help himself; the amused snort that slipped out might have been embarrassing, if not for the almost matching sound that wormed its way free from Minami’s chest.  It was enough to set them both off, laughter resounding around the small room even as Minami tried in vain to quell the sound, his ribs protesting.

Yuri could not remember the last time he had laughed like that, and wondered if it was perhaps the ridiculousness of their situation tinged with relief.  Minami’s own laugh was infectious, soft and bubbly, much like the boy himself.  

“We can watch something else, if you want.”  Minami finally managed once he had calmed down enough to speak once more.  He seemed happier at least, the last of the tension draining from his body, and Yuri supposed that was  _ something _ .

“No, it’s fine.”  The television remote had ended up just below their knees, and he was not in the mood to move; it had taken long enough to get comfortable as it was.  While the film itself wasn’t something Yuri would have picked, he wasn’t exactly watching it either, so it made little difference.

The movie droned on, and after a while it seemed that Minami was not watching it either, his breathing slowing and the hand that had been fisted in the fabric of Yuri’s hoodie slid down his side to rest on the bed, leaving Minami’s arm draped over his stomach.  It came as no surprise that he had succumbed to sleep, the pain he was in more than a little exhausting, though Yuri did find it odd that the boy trusted him enough to do so while they were wound around one another.  It might almost be intimate, he thought, if Minami were not so  _ innocent _ , blind to the way Yuri looked at him.

Nosing at the mussed blonde and red tresses that tickled against his skin, Yuri breathed in the scent of cheap hotel shampoo and antiseptic, letting the reality of it ground him.  He was being ridiculous again, and he knew he needed to distance himself from this boy before one or the other of them got hurt.

_ Impossible _ , he thought, pulling Minami closer.

* * *

“Oh, that is too cute.”  The sound of familiar laughter, desperately muffled behind hands, tried fruitlessly to tug Yuri from the pleasant sleep he had been indulging in.  He fought against it, warm and happy in the velvet blackness that had treated him to pleasant dreams for once.

There was a click and a flash, which perhaps should have worried him.  Instead, he curled tighter into the warmth that embraced him, nuzzling against it as the sounds died off once more and he let the dream take him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More entirely amazing art and holy crap <3
> 
> http://robot-fuckr.tumblr.com/post/153465095584/a-scene-from-syrums-fic-which-i-love-with-all-my


	7. Gingerbread

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god I am so sorry >< it has been a whole week and I have no excuses!!
> 
> If anyone who isn't on Tumblr is interested in the missing scene that happens RIGHT after the last chapter, complete with entirely adorable art...
> 
> http://syrum.tumblr.com/post/153490105048/robot-fuckr-victor-is-a-child-scene-from-syrums

“I can’t believe you didn’t wake me.”  Yuri was sulking, acting the child, yet he could not seem to shift the pout from his lips or the irritation from his chest.  “Asshole.”

“You looked like you needed the sleep.”  The non-committal way in which Victor replied only served to intensify the annoyance he felt for the older man, punctuated by a graceful shrug of the shoulders.  “Besides, it’s not as if there’s anywhere you need to  _ be _ .  I rescheduled your flights for you, organised a new hotel room, and sent Yakov and Mila back home ahead of you.”

“What the fuck?”  Several diners turned to look at them at Yuri’s sudden outburst, and he immediately dialled it back, retaking his seat and hunching over the plate of eggs and bacon in front of him.  “You can’t just go deciding that on your own.”

“Whyever not?”  Victor blinked up at him, finally dragging his attention away from the morning’s paper - articles on Yuri’s ‘daring rescue’ of Minami still very much present in the media, though thankfully no longer on the front page at least - to regard Yuri with a pure sort of confusion that indicated he genuinely had no idea what he had done that was so wrong.  “I’ll be staying until you’re ready to leave, so there’s no problem, right?”

Yuri did not bother to respond, instead shovelling as much of his breakfast into his mouth as he could without making himself sick, swallowing most of the plate of food in record time before storming from the room and leaving Victor to pick up the tab.  He missed the look Victor shot his way at the clatter of wooden chair legs against the tiled floor, a mix of concern and understanding that would have only served to increase his frustration further, blue eyes following him until his back disappeared from view.

* * *

With his hair scraped back out of sight under a trapper-style hat, and a bland beige-coloured jacket zipped up to his chin, Yuri could have been anyone in the crowd of people surging along the street with purpose.  He was small, which helped in going unnoticed, yet the thrill of being  _ in disguise _ had long since worn off, and now he was mostly just tired of the whole thing.  He was particularly tired of the thick-rimmed glasses that Victor had insisted that he wear -  _ if it worked for Superman... _ \- that pinched his nose and rubbed the tops of his ears until they were sore.

Superman could go to hell.

The streets were busy, most shops having opened by that point and Saturday-morning shoppers filling the sidewalk with noise and bustle.  It was a stark contrast to the near-deserted world that they had stepped out into only an hour beforehand, and Yuri loathed it.  He loathed the city, loathed the people who bumped into him and then complained as though it had been  _ his _ fault, yet mostly he loathed the  _ noise _ .

All he really wanted to do, was get back to his hotel and  _ breathe _ for a while.  Not for too long, just enough to sort through the muddle of thoughts in his mind and relax against the frantic pounding of his heartbeat.  He wasn’t really one for crowds, and even less so since the incident back at the rink, yet his own hotel was a half hour away by car and he wasn’t certain he would manage an hour by taxi - or afford it, for that matter.

Yuri wasn’t ready to head back to Minami’s room, not just yet.  He needed some time away from the boy, before his head exploded and he ended up either saying or doing something that he wouldn’t be able to take back.

Like  _ kissing _ those ridiculous, smiling lips, with the split that was slowly healing and the one fanged tooth that always seemed to be visible.

He was blushing, in public, and Yuri didn’t care.  It wasn’t as though anyone around him  _ knew _ him, and better to get it out of his system there in the street than in front of someone who actually  _ mattered _ .  No, he was fine, this was  _ fine _ .

Something glinting in a shop window caught his eye, and for lack of anything better to focus on, Yuri found himself drawn to it.  The shop in question was a bakery, large and busy with signs outside for  _ offer of the day _ and  _ meal deal only $3.99 _ .  He could smell freshly baked bread, and despite having only recently finished his breakfast, the scent made his mouth water.

The window to the front of the shop was large, and there was space enough in front of it for the small bistro-style tables and chairs that were both uncomfortable and impractical.  Cakes were lined up behind the huge pane of glass, more varieties than Yuri could name or even hope to try in his lifetime.  Cookies dotted with multi-coloured spots, perfectly iced cupcakes that glimmered with an edible glitter and elaborately decorated gingerbread men caught his eye one by one.  There, right in the middle of the display, standing tall and proud, was a display of entirely enormous muffins in a multitude of different flavours.

One in particular, though, caught his eye.  A soft brown in colour, the top had been iced just enough that a tiny sugar gingerbread man could be stuck, pride of place.

Checking his wallet, Yuri’s face split into a triumphant smile; he had enough on him for just the one, and he knew precisely which one he wanted.

* * *

“He’s such an asshole.”  Yuri grouched as he flopped down on the bed, feeling somewhat guilty at Minami’s wince as he was bounced slightly by the motion.  “Deciding shit like that all on his own, where does he get off on trying to run my life?”

“I’m sure he’s only trying to do what he thinks is best.”  Minami picked at the over-sized muffin clutched in his slim hands, gently pulling the folds of paper away from the over-sweet dessert vaguely disguised as a breakfast item.  “And it means you get to stay for a few days longer, right?  Sorry, but I can’t be mad at Victor for that, even if he really  _ should _ have asked first.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”  His heart stuttered within his chest, and Yuri wasn’t certain he would ever get used to Minami being able to do  _ that  _ to him.  Wide-eyed, he could feel Minami’s gaze switch to him, almost blinding, and he refused to look up from where the smaller skater’s fingers picked at the muffin Yuri had brought back with him.

“Well, I guess I’m being selfish, but it means I get to keep you for a bit longer.”  He was grinning, and Yuri did not need to see the expression, he could  _ feel _ the warmth radiating off Minami at the expression.  It was so pure, so  _ innocent _ , and Minami had no idea at all what his words were doing to him.

“Don’t get too used to it.”  Yuri grumbled by way of response, slouching down against the headboard and earning a bright laugh from his companion.  “Did I get the wrong flavour?”  It was a thinly-veiled attempt at derailing the conversation, and Yuri could not really pretend it was anything  _ else _ , embarrassment pulsing through him and making it hard to concentrate.

“What?”  Minami was still staring at him, confusion etched into both his features and his voice, and Yuri began to wonder if the smaller boy would  _ ever _ look away.  

“The muffin, is it wrong?”

“Oh, no.  Not at all.”  When he finally looked up, Minami was no longer paying attention to him, instead staring down at the now fully unwrapped muffin in his lap, a soft smile tugging at his lips.  “It’s just-”  Minami paused then, shifting his attention back to Yuri’s face, and Yuri was  _ certain  _ there were tears shimmering in his eyes.  “You bought it for me, and I  _ love _ gingerbread muffins!”

Yuri was shocked into silence for a grand total of three seconds.  “You’re an idiot.”  He finally ground out, half tempted to take the entirety of said muffin and shove it, unceremoniously, into Minami’s face.  Instead, he simply tore a chunk off the side and held it out, ignoring the flush that threatened to colour his cheeks and neck as he gave Minami the option of whether to take it or not.  “Eat.  You won’t heal if you don’t eat, and I still haven’t seen your free skate.”

“You want to watch me skate?”  Turning his head, Minami’s expression was one of unbridled joy, and Yuri wondered just how the boy managed to feel  _ so many emotions, _ so  _ intensely _ , without being entirely overwhelmed.  Minami’s cheek, dimpled from the width of his smile, brushed against the chunk of muffin as he moved, sending crumbs scattering all over the sheets.

“ _ Obviously _ ,”  Yuri replied with a roll of his eyes that was bordering on fond, before practically shoving the piece of muffin into Minami’s mouth and earning an indignant squawk for his efforts.  “So eat your damn breakfast, or I’ll leave and spend the rest of the day with  _ Victor _ .”  It was an empty threat, yet it seemed to have the desired response as pink lips closed around his fingers.

Yuri’s face flamed red.

He had not thought this plan through.

* * *

“Are you sure this is the right decision?”  Kanako wasn’t entirely happy about it, yet despite her own misgivings and the gnawing doubt in the pit of her stomach, she also knew they had little choice in the matter.

Well, she and Minami had little choice in the matter at least.  Victor and that Yuri boy could do as they pleased, after all.

“I’m certain this is the  _ only _ decision.”  Victor replied, not unkindly, shooting the worried woman one of his usual reassuring smiles.  “Minami isn’t able to fly yet, and the police want him here for a while longer for their enquiries.  This is our best course of action.”

“His parents have expressed their wishes in having him home, as quickly as possible.”  It made sense; Minami’s parents were both doctors, and from what he could gather clearly cared about their son.  Victor was certain, in their shoes, he would want the same, and from Kanako’s reluctance he could tell she was clearly thinking along the same lines.

They must have been out of their minds with worry.  Victor nodded and made a mental note to make certain they were kept updated as needed, should anything change that made it necessary.  Kanako was handling it, for the moment, but she had other students too, there was no knowing when she might be pulled away for something else.  “Understandable, but this is an unavoidable delay.”

“I’m worried that his staying here might be, well-”  Kanako paused then, worrying at her lip, concern palpable.  “ _ Dangerous _ .  I don’t want those  _ people _ getting their hands on him again.”

“They won’t.”  Victor placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and she slumped slightly under the contact.  “That’s why Yuri’s still here, why  _ I’m _ still here.  He’ll be safe enough, and besides,”  The grin he offered her was blinding, yet strangely different to the ones oft seen on camera, for the world at large.  It was disconcerting to have it levelled at her, and Kanako wasn’t certain she would be able to handle much more of this strange Russian man.  “ _ My _ Yuuri will be here soon, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

Kanako only hoped that he was right.


	8. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri arrives in America, and what he finds is far worse than he could ever have expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yes there have been a few delays on this one. I've had Christmas to sort out, a health scare that's stopping me from sleeping and I managed to brick my laptop with a Windows update. Fun times.
> 
> I've since fixed the laptop, everything else is still pending.
> 
> Here, have some victuuri.

America was too big, too noisy and too _busy_.  The cities were perpetually bright, lit by an insurmountable number of lights that never seemed to switch off.  Shops remained open on an apparently permanent basis, and no one ever seemed to actually sleep.  It was dangerous, the food was strange and the whole place just smelled funny.

Yuuri _loved_ America.

He particularly loved the food, far cheaper than back home in Japan, and easier to get too.  No matter the time, _somewhere_ would still be open and serving, it was just a case of tracking down somewhere that looked half-decent and mostly clean.  Which was how he found himself inhaling half a hot dog while trying to hail a cab at three-thirty in the morning.

Not an ideal food choice, considering his self-enforced diet, but he hadn’t had one for entirely too long and the food on the flight had been beyond awful.  ‘Cardboard’ did not quite cover the taste of the so-called meal he had been provided with mid-flight, and he was certain that one of the slightly less brown-coloured lumps had actually _moved_.  He hadn’t been able to stomach any more of the unpalatable meal, after that.

The flight itself had been fairly uneventful, if frightfully boring.  He had been moved up a flight from the one he had originally intended on getting - something to do with overbooking, and he certainly did not mind arriving almost a full twelve hours earlier than planned.  It meant better seats on the plane, less waiting around in airports and a few extra hours with Victor.

Still, it had been a strange experience; Yuuri could think of only one occasion since he and Victor began their rather unconventional relationship where he had flown _anywhere_ alone.  They had been inseparable, not only since their rather unusual engagement - and he _still_ wasn’t certain as to exactly what had happened there - but long before that.  Since, really, Victor’s unexpected arrival in Japan, if he didn’t include that _one_ time.

He’d rather not think about that.

The bright yellow of the taxi was muted to a warm amber under the soft glow of the streetlight, and Yuuri crumpled the paper that had once held his hotdog within his fist as he slid into the back seat, his suitcase pressed between his knees.

“Where to?”  The driver was older than Yuuri was used to seeing, by a good few years.  The man looked to be in his sixties at least, and he fixed Yuuri with a friendly smile and a pointed look.  Yuuri simply smiled back, read out the address of the hotel Victor had given him, and sat back to enjoy the ride as best he could in the slightly chilly back seat.  He tapped out a quick text to Victor - little more than confirmation that he had arrived safely and would be there in twenty minutes or less, with the obligatory kisses on the end lest Victor think Yuuri was mad at him or something equally ridiculous - before settling his phone in his lap and staring out the window at the passing shop fronts as they sped across the city.  The airport was, thankfully, not too far from the hotel, a fact Yuuri was more than grateful for as his eyelids began to droop.

It would have been too easy to simply doze off in the back of the taxi, yet Yuuri knew first hand the dangers of that, and as much as the driver seemed nice enough he wasn’t in the mood to replace yet another stolen wallet.  Victor had all but insisted on picking him up from the airport, and likely would have if not for the change in Yuuri’s arrival time.  Even then, Victor had promised he would be there waiting, and it had been something of a surprise when he _hadn’t_ been.

One short phone call later had left Yuuri laughing softly to himself as he wandered from the arrivals lounge towards the exit, and out onto the street.  Victor had sounded first confused, then panicked, all blanketed by a layer of sleep.  Yuuri would have put money on Victor having fallen asleep in his clothes, on top of the covers, his nose buried in a book.  It didn’t matter; Yuuri hadn’t _needed_ to be picked up, he had travelled miles by public transport long before Victor had appeared on the scene, and was perfectly capable of getting himself to the hotel in one piece.  In fact, he preferred it this way; it allowed him to prove his independence somewhat to his occasionally over-protective fiance, and helped to alleviate at least some of the guilt at being the sole reason for Victor having to remain awake until the early hours of the morning.  As long as he was awake enough to let Yuuri into the room, that was fine.

The taxi pulled up outside the front of the hotel less than fifteen minutes later, a near-complete lack of traffic on the quiet streets making the trip far simpler than it would ordinarily have been.  With a muttered thanks and a stifled yawn, Yuuri paid the driver before stumbling up the steps of the hotel and pressing the buzzer for out of hours entry.  The door clicked open and he stumbled through into the large lobby, making his way over to the expectant night-shift worker at the desk who looked decidedly too chirpy considering the late hour.

“Yuuri Katsuki, my arrival should have been cleared by Victor Nikiforov.”  The woman began tapping away at her keyboard, the low light from the screen bouncing off the silver earrings that dangled just past her chin, the smile never once leaving her face.

“Ah yes, I can see a note on the account.  Do you have any identification on you, Mister Katsuki?”  She looked up at him expectantly, and Yuuri fumbled in his pockets for a moment until he found his passport, handing it to the woman as he stifled yet another yawn.  She checked it quickly, nodded, then passed it back over the counter along with a key card.  Yuuri raised an eyebrow at the small piece of plastic and shot her a questioning look; it was rare for Victor not to simply take both key cards if they were apart during the check-in process.  “At Mister Nikiforov’s request.  Since he couldn’t be here to greet you personally.”

“Thank you.”  Yuuri mumbled in response, taking hold of his suitcase and glancing around until he spotted the two elevators to one side of the lobby, the doors opening as soon as he called for the lift, stepping inside and pressing the button for the twelfth floor.   _Strange_ , he thought as the metal doors slid shut, for Victor to change a habit that had been in place since they had met.  Stranger still that it would be under such unpleasant circumstances, when Yuuri would have expected Victor to hold onto the little quirks that ensured familiarity.

It was such a little thing, and yet it _bothered_ Yuuri, more than he liked to admit.

The elevator pinged and the doors opened, revealing a long hallway lined with modern wall sconces that easily lit the seemingly endless rows of doors, only distinguishable from one another by the incremental numbers as Yuuri passed.  His case made no noise on the utilitarian cream carpet beneath his feet, his near-silent shadow as the numbers blurred, glasses pushed up and out of the way so he could rub against tired eyes.

Yuuri turned the corner and Victor’s door was right there before him, the card sliding into the lock with a click and a beep to signify that he could enter.  Despite his reservations about the peculiarity of the circumstances, he was at least pleased he didn’t have to knock.

The door hadn’t even closed behind him before his arms were filled with an over-enthusiastic and adorably sleep-mussed Victor.  His clothes were skewed and wrinkled - apparently Yuuri had been right about that, at least - and he was murmuring something indecipherable in Russian into Yuuri’s neck.  The words were clearly meant for him, yet not meant to be understood, and Yuuri smiled as he wrapped his arms around Victor’s waist and simply let him _nuzzle_ for a while.  He caught the tail-end of an endearment and the smile widened, heart clenching in his chest near-painfully as he simply held on.

“I missed you.”  Victor finally switched to English, and Yuuri allowed him to pull away only far enough that he could lean up and kiss his fiance, soft and slow, one hand reaching to bury in silver tresses and remaining there as Victor parted his lips in silent consent.  Hands slid down his back, his waist, moving to rest at his hips, slender fingers gripping near-painfully even through the fabric of his coat.

Victor’s tongue held no hesitation as it rose to meet with Yuuri’s own, neither one fighting for dominance as they tangled together, and Yuuri could feel the way Victor seemed to sag with relief against him as he gave himself up to the kiss.  There would be time enough later for talking, and they would certainly need to; the whole situation was clearly bothering Victor more than he had let on.  He rarely showed this level of concern, at least not openly, not even to Yuuri who had learned to read his body language long before they had ever started dating.  Victor, who felt everything acutely and allowed none of what he was feeling to breach the surface, was pawing at him and mewling against his mouth as though they had been apart for months, not weeks.

It was disconcerting, and Yuuri did not like it.

“Victor-”  The break in the kiss earned Yuuri a low whine of disappointment, and he began to kiss a trail from the corner of Victor’s mouth down and across his chin, using the grip he still held on Victor’s hair to tilt his head back just far enough to give him further access to the Russian’s neck.  “It’s okay, I’m here.”  Victor’s breath hitched in his throat, and the hands that had held his hips in place moved to tug at the zipper that held his coat closed, fumbling blindly for a moment before they found their goal.  “I’ve got you.”  It seemed apt, switching back to Japanese.  Less abrasive than using a language they both spoke fluently, and it didn’t matter that Victor might not understand everything spilling from his mouth, he would get the general idea.

As much as Victor might protest that he did not like to be _coddled_ , Yuuri knew that to be a bare-faced lie.  He loved it, he thrived on it, and there were times - like that very moment - when he _needed_ it.  Those times, he would not protest it, even in the mock-affront that he wore so poorly.  Yuuri let Victor unzip his jacket, helped push it from his own shoulders to drop to the floor in a forgotten heap, and though he had to relinquish his hold on Victor’s hair to do so, Victor’s head remained tilted backwards in such a way that Yuuri could latch onto his neck to suck a small, purpling bruise just above the juncture of his shoulder.

Deft fingers worked their way down the front of Victor’s shirt, creased beyond compare, popping the buttons free one by one.  The fabric slid free and fluttered to join Yuuri’s coat, and he spared it a moment’s thought to contemplate which designer it had belonged to and what ridiculous sum the thing was worth, before moving on to the button of Victor’s pants.

He was dressed smartly enough, even for Victor, that it gave Yuuri pause - who had he met with to require such formality?  Had _they_ been the cause of his current state of unrest?  He forced himself to concentrate, to ignore the unknown for now, focusing entirely on the task of stripping away the layers that Victor hid himself behind and leaving as many little marks peppered across Victor’s chest as he possibly could.

“Bed.”  Yuuri finally murmured, leaving little room for protest, pulling back only so that Victor could tug the loose-fitting tee over his head and toss it to join their growing pile of clothes.  He quickly shucked off his own jeans and socks, leaving his boxers in place for now, unsurprised when Victor decided to forgo even those.

The bed itself was soft as Yuuri sank into the still warm sheets, Victor close at his back as a firm arm wrapped itself around him to pull Yuuri back against Victor’s chest.  He could feel the puff of Victor’s breath against the top of his head, the press of a nose and chin into the loose strands as Victor sought to ground himself in the presence of his lover.

“Thank you.”  Victor’s voice laden with unspoken emotion and Yuuri shuffled back so that they were pressed together from shoulder to toe, tangling their fingers and holding on as his unspoken _always_.

* * *

The clock on the nightstand blinked eight-thirty when Yuuri was jolted from sleep by an insistent banging on the hotel room door.  He jolted from the bed, leaving Victor blinking sleepily up from the mess of pillows, hair mussed and eyes darkened with shadows.

“Just a minute!”  The knocking ceased, thankfully for Yuuri’s sleep-muddled mind as a low throb behind his eyes signified the onset of a headache.  Stumbling over their discarded clothes from too few hours earlier, he dragged one of the hotel-branded bath robes and tugged it on, tying it quickly at his waist and fumbling to open the door, blinking in the bright lights of the hallway.

“Are you Yuuri Katsuki?”  The man at the door was tall, easily over six foot, and dressed in the uniform of the local constabulary.  Beside him stood another officer, half a head shorter than Yuuri and with her hair scraped back into a severe bun.  They both wore grim expressions, shoulders squared and hands loose at their sides.

“I am.”  Yuuri replied, his mind immediately flickering to his reason for being there - Minami - stomach pooling with dread.  “Has something happened?”

“I’m Sergeant Williams, and this is Sergeant Fitz.”  The woman finally spoke, stepping forward and Yuuri could hear the rustling of fabric behind him, the only warning he received before a dishevelled-looking Victor appeared at his shoulder, dressed in the pants and shirt he had discarded the night before.  She turned to look up at him and nodded a greeting.  “Mister Nikiforov.”

“Sergeants.”  Victor nodded his own response, wrapping a protective arm around Yuuri’s waist.  “It’s good to see you both again, won’t you come in?  I’d offer you both a drink, but I’m afraid the hotel hasn’t replenished my supply of coffee yet.”

“That’s fine.  My apologies for waking you both so early.”  Sergeant Williams stepped over the threshold of the room, followed closely by Sergeant Fitz, and Yuuri closed the door behind them with a click.  “There was another attempt, last night.”  Yuuri’s throat tightened and he struggled to breathe.

“I see.”  Steering Yuuri over to the bed, Victor pushed him to sit, quickly joining him and taking his hand.  “What happened?”

“I can’t give you all of the details, for obvious reasons.  At approximately midnight, an unknown person or persons broke into the hotel room registered to one Kenjirou Minami.  No one was hurt in the attack and nothing was taken, however the room was turned upside down and the repair cost to the hotel is thought to be _extensive_.  I’m expected to ask where you were between eleven last night and two this morning.”  The officer pulled out a pad and pen, flicking it open to start a new page of notes.

“Understandable.”  Victor was running a thumb over the back of Yuuri’s hand, staving off the rising panic for long enough to allow Sergeant Fitz to finish with his explanation.  “Well, I had intended on picking Yuuri up from the airport, but I’m embarrassed to admit I fell asleep and haven’t left the room since I returned from dinner last night.”

“And what time would that be?”  Williams interjected, her eyes fixed on Victor’s face as her companion focused on the pad in his hand.  Looking for twitches, any tells that might indicate a lie, and Yuuri assumed it was more habit than a belief that Victor was in any way involved.

“Around nine-fifteen, I believe.”

“I’m sure the hotel security footage and door entry records will verify that you were here all night.  Mister Katsuki, can you confirm what time you arrived at the hotel?”  She asked, attention flicking to Yuuri and he felt the full weight of her gaze.

“About…”  Yuuri paused for a moment, thinking back to his flight, the taxi ride, and the time spent at checking in desk.  “About four this morning, I think.”  He paused, worrying at his lip as the officer scribbled something down.  “Minami’s okay?”  His voice was tiny, tinged with both relief and concern.

“We moved him, yesterday.”  Victor assured at his side, and Yuuri could have cried with relief.  “I thought it might be safer to have him stay somewhere a bit more secure, without his name on the room registry.”

“And you were correct.”  Sergeant Williams allowed the flicker of a smile, before her expression was schooled back into a forced neutrality.  “Mister Nikiforov, you may well have saved that boy’s life.”

“Now we just need to keep him safe until he’s cleared to fly home.”  There was a heavy pressure in the room, and Yuuri was certain he wasn’t the only one who felt it, Victor’s shoulders slumping slightly beside him in a motion he might have missed if he had not been focused so intently on his fiance.  “Thank you, for letting us know.”

“It’s no problem.  Of course, if you see or hear anything that might be of any help in catching these people, please let us know.”  Yuuri nodded, though he wasn’t truly listening, and Victor stood to see the two officers out with a final goodbye.  His blood was pounding in his ears; Minami was _safe_ , yet he very nearly had not been.  Without Victor, without his quick thinking, the hyperactive blonde might no longer be with them.  Without Yuri, he could have been lost to them already.

The sooner they could get Minami back to Japan, the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And y'all thought Victor was the possessive one...
> 
> I feel the need to add this, because it was the inspiration for the start of this chapter. My best friend came back from Japan recently (so jelly...), and one of the first things they said to me when back in the country? 'Everything is small and England smells funny.'
> 
> I was amused and needed to share!
> 
> Hit me up on tumblr; syrum.tumblr.com


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